Fear slammed into him, and he pushed himself up to scoot backward. It wasn’t the clouds that blocked out the sun; it was a man looming over him. “Leave.” Felipe inwardly winced at the squeak that came out of his mouth, instead of the growl he had been aiming for.
“No!” the man muttered. He reached out a hand and gripped Felipe by the ankle. “I have got him, Haaz, I found our bastard little brother.”
Oh, he was screwed, so screwed. His grandmother would be devastated if he disappeared. What the fuck did that man want with him? He wasn’t even supposed to know he existed. His sperm donor had played a huge part in Hezbollah’s South American activities over the past twenty or more years, and had been involved in everything from the 1992 attack on the Israeli Embassy in Buenos Aires, and 2 years later at the Argentine Jewish Mutual Association building in Buenos Aires, attacks which killed and injured hundreds of civilians. Nope, Felipe did not want anything to do with that side of the family.
He fought them, fought as hard as he could against the men who claimed to be his half-brothers, but it didn’t matter, within minutes he found himself tied up and tossed into the back of their jeep. Felipe knew his life would never be the same again. There and then, he swore that he would find a way. He would come back here. To Mexico. Someday, somehow, he would come home.
* * *
Rio de Janeiro, Brazil, 2020
Felipe stretched his neck from side to side until it gave a satisfying pop, relieving the tension that had gathered there. El’ Mencho had become convinced they had a mole in their ranks. Why the hell he thought sending Felipe here to Rio would make a difference. Unless he thought that his bastard son was the one passing on the information which kept escaping their compound.
When he had promised his seventeen-year-old self that he would make his way home to Mexico, he had never imagined that it would be to infiltrate El’ Mencho’s compound.
Felipe hated El’ Mencho’s guts. He had agreed to his father’s order to visit Mexico. Hell, who was he kidding? He had jumped at the chance to come home. To fulfill his promise to himself from so many years ago. But it was discovering that his grandparents and his mother had been slaughtered by El’ Mencho’s death squads when they refused to sell him their land or to grow the drugs he wanted there that had sealed the deal.
But Felipe wasn’t stupid. His father’s request had been a thinly disguised order. He didn’t really have a choice but to go to Mexico. Years of beatings and torture had not tamed the wild streak he had inside him. Those beatings had taught him to bury it deep, to keep the fire alive in his belly where only he could see. He had been careful to not let his father see how much he wanted to be the one to go. Nope, if he had slipped and let that man see the desire to go home in his eyes, he would never have been the one chosen to be his family ambassador to the cartels.
Those beatings had also reminded him to keep his enemies close. With El’ Mencho’s sons being arrested and indicted for charges in the USA, the old man was getting more pissed by the day. Felipe had his own suspicions as to who the mole was. She had been terrified when he had found her, running like her life depended on it. Hadn’t wanted to trust him, but somehow he had won her over and had helped her, and her sons, escape just a few short months ago. He had even given her information to pass on to US agencies. Taken the chance that she would not betray him.
El’ Mencho had been so freaking pissed when the authorities at the US-Mexico border had stopped three hundred and fifty pounds of heroin from crossing into the United States. Had raged for days at the loss of almost eight million dollars’ worth of prime product. But it had been the raid on a cash house which had nearly given him a stroke. His eyes had bulged out of his head at the loss of nearly fifty million US dollars.
Felipe warned himself not to let his glee show on his face at the memory. He was taking a risk coming here to Rua Miguel Lemos, not too far from Copacabana. He knew sneaking out of the hotel and away from the guards his father had sent with him was risky. If they missed him, they could think he was meeting with a DEA official. If they followed him, he could also be signing his death warrant. His father hated gays, or ass-fuckers as he called them. Nope, no way was Felipe looking forward to explaining that one. He wasn’t ashamed of who he was. He just valued his life too much to be anything less than discreet. Which is why it was over a year since he’d had sex. Better he went here, to a gay bar in Rio, then risk attempting to pick up one of the hookers that were on every street corner of his father’s hometown.
From his position behind the driver of the yellow taxi, he watched for the sign which would indicate they had arrived at Salão do arco-íris. The Rainbow Lounge was one of the oldest remaining gay bars in Rio de Janeiro. He hadn’t been here before, but all information he could find on the internet showed it was located below street level and had a cavernous look and feel. The bar, with a small dance floor, marketed itself as a bar for ursos. And hell yes, a bear was just what he was looking for. According to the reviews, it was extremely popular with maduros too. Felipe didn’t care, an older guy had a better chance of knowing what he was doing with his dick. He didn’t need someone fumbling about. He was coming here with one purpose: to fuck or get fucked hard until he couldn’t think straight. Although he topped more than he bottomed, sometimes being a switch had its advantages. Either way, he needed the release that only being with a man would give him.
“We are here.” The driver stopped in the middle of the street, ignoring the blaring of horns behind him.
“Keep the change.” Felipe tossed a handful of American dollars at the driver and stepped out of the cab. Checking the street, he waited for a bike rider to pass before he stepped onto the sidewalk and headed down the alleyway. The door to Salão do arco-íris was set back from the alley, under an archway. Felipe reached his hand into his jacket for his wallet, intending to pay the cover charge, but was waved on in by the burly doorman.
“No charge.”
“Thanks.” Felipe smiled at the man. The louder the music got and the more he felt its beat resonate in his soul, the more like himself he felt. This was where he could be who he was born to be. No matter who or what his father and others like him, tried to make him. He was not a drug lord, not a mercenary or an enforcer. He would not bow down to the laws of his father, no matter how hard his brothers and the beatings tried to make it so. The law may mark him as a criminal because of the blood in his veins, but someday he would be free.
* * *
Cade had been sipping his beer, people watching for an hour before he clocked the man as he entered the bar. Cade’s dick had stood to attention and taken notice too. It had been a long time since he'd cruised, a long time since he'd come to places like this, and even longer since his dick had decided it should have some fun. It was enough to make Cade take a second look at the man. He dressed in dark suit pants with a white shirt open at the neck which also stood out from the flamboyant outfits of the crowd. There was something about the way he held himself that drew Cade closer. He abandoned his spot near the far wall and pushed his way through the press of male bodies to the bar where the man his dick was doing a happy dance for had taken up residence.
Damn it,Cade cursed under his breath that he was not close enough to hear the man’s voice over the sound of the music as he spoke to the barman to order a drink. “FUCK!” he cursed loud enough for the couple next to him to glance at him suspiciously when the gorgeous idiot turned his back to watch the floor, leaving his drink unsupervised on the bar. That was dangerous to do in this part of town. Cade didn’t bother to question why it pissed him off so much, he never second guessed himself anymore. He reached the bar just as the man stretched a hand behind himself, his fingers searching for his beer bottle, “Don’t drink that.”
At Cade’s sharp words, the man’s hand froze, “What?
“You left it unsupervised.”
“I was sitting right here.”
“You have eyes in the back of your head, boy?” Cade moved closer, until the man leaned back against the bar. The man twitched one leg farther apart from the other, a minuscule movement, an invitation, creating the perfect space for Cade to step closer, and hell yes, Cade obliged. “You need to watch your wallet, cellphone, and drink.” Cade leaned closer, watching for every flicker of the man’s eyes for his reaction to being crowded. “Boa Noite Cinderela is a thing here.”
“They wouldn’t dare.”
The confidence in the man’s tone made Cade pause a second and study his face. Nope, he didn’t know him. Before he’d arrived in Brazil, he’d made a point of memorizing all the faces of the potential players who might cross his path. But this face was new. Not one of the local cartels or politicians. He supposed he could be a celebrity, but chances of that were slim. The only ones the opportunists would avoid were the cartels, they weren’t afraid of cops. The people who made their living out of Boa Noite Cinderela, the phenomenon of slipping drugs into strangers’ drinks and robbing them, had deals with the cops here.
“It doesn’t matter who you are or where you come from, boy, here, in this place you are a mark.” Cade watched as understanding flashed in the man’s eyes. “I’ll buy you a new drink if you really want one.” Cade heard a tiny hitch in the man’s breathing. “Or we can get outta here.”
The man swallowed hard, his Adam’s apple bobbing down, then up. “I’ll take that drink first.” The tip of his tongue peeked out of the corner of his mouth before he licked his bottom lip. Shifting on the barstool, his thigh brushing against Cade’s dick. “Then…” He shrugged, “We’ll see.”
“What do I call you?” Cade stayed in his place between the man’s legs. He found he liked this spot. His dick did too. It twitched when the man’s leg brushed against it.
